Just Our Little Secret
by mediwitch3
Summary: What if Quinn hadn't found Sam after the slushie in "Duets"? AUish. Slash. Sinn Sam/Finn Hevanson Hevans Evanson. Oneshot.


You stand there, utterly mortified. The red, gooey, ice burns your eyes, and seeps through your clothes. You thought he was wrong, you thought that maybe, _maybe_ you'd be okay. But now look at you. You're in the middle of the hallway, drenched in red slushie. God, you can't even _move_. Any anger and determination left from your argument with Finn leaves your system rapidly, leaving in its place a pathetic feeling of despair. What are you supposed to do? The burning in your eyes is making it difficult to see, so you close them in the hopes that it'll go away. But it doesn't. And you can feel the pressure building behind your corneas. Oh no. You _cannot _cry. But you are. The first few tears slip out from behind your eyelids, and there's a slight relief from the burning.

Suddenly, you're being moved. There's a large, warm hand on your elbow, gently guiding you somewhere. You open your eyes a little and see Finn, an apologetic look on his face. He pushes open the bathroom door, and moves away. You instantly miss the contact, and a little noise of protest escapes the confines of your throat before you can stop it. He turns and grins a little at you, and behind the slushie, you blush. He wanders over to the stalls, pushing them all open, before he comes back over and locks the door.

Then his hand is back, and he moving you towards the sinks. He looks at you for a moment, and after a beat of silence, his hands are on the hem of your shirt. You immediately snap out of your trance, smack his hands away. He grins a little more.

"I can do it myself."

"Chill, dude, I wasn't sure. The first time I was slushied, Kurt had to do everything for me, I was so in shock. But you're gonna have to let me help you wash your face. It's really hard to do it for yourself. Takes a lot of practice."

He reaches out, taking your shirt and hanging it over one of the sinks. Then, gentle hands are on your shoulders, guiding your half-naked body downward. He turns the water on warm, and his hands carefully massage your hair. He leans his torso over yours, the pressure of his back a ghost against your too hot skin. His breath against your ear startles you a little, his whisper sounding louder than it should.

"Open your eyes." You do.

The water rushes in, and you have to struggle to keep them even half open. After a few seconds, the water stops. He moves back, but keeps his hands on your shoulders. A gentle tug is all the instruction you need to pull your head out of the sink. His hands are careful as they pull your hair back into place, and the red towel warm and fluffy against your soaked face. He moves down to your bare chest, stroking almost too tenderly. He doesn't look you in the eyes as his hands moves from your pecs to your abs. It tickles a little, but not in a mirthful way. The towel is thin, and you feel every finger of his hand on your stomach. It sends little tingles up your spine, and into your groin. Your eyes close of their own accord, and a shameful little sigh escapes your lips. You open them again, to see if he noticed anything. He's staring at you, but not in an "Oh my god, what is wrong with him" kind of way. Before you can process what you're doing, you surge forward. Your lips, your body and your groin all meet his simultaneously.

There it is. Sweet, sweet friction. You push a little harder, and he surprises you by responding just as if not more enthusiastically than you are. The towel drops as his hands go to your hips. He uses this to turn you around and lift you onto the sink. He moves between your legs, his hips aligned perfectly with yours. While you usually prefer girls shorter than you, now you're glad for the height difference.

You subconsciously decide that he's wearing too much clothing. So, naturally, you remove his shirt. And this is suddenly ten times better than anything you've ever done with a girl. Because without the fatty lumps on a girl's chest, supposedly they're attractive, but you've never thought so, you can _feel everything_. And with his tongue still in your mouth, he somehow manages to remove the remainder of his clothing, and yours. He kicks it away, and then lifts his hips a little more. And the world explodes behind your eyes. Yes. _Definitely_ better than a girl. You thrust up, and meet him half way. You're both moaning, and groaning, and sweating and panting, and thrusting, and _God, it's __**so good.**_ And your hips collide harder and harder every time. And you can't take it, you can't _breathe_.

You pull away, throwing your head back so hard it _smacks_ against the mirror behind you. You look at him, and he looks at you. You make your decision. The next time his hips move up to meet yours, you reach out. The minute your fingers touch his skin, he stops, and he groans, low and long and desperate. Your hand curls around him, and you stroke his velvety skin. He thrusts up against your hand, grunting, and panting, and groaning. And finally, his jaw drops, his head falls back, and he erupts. It's messy and explosive and _all over you_. It's on your hand, your cheek, your chest, your abs, your hair, even your _own_ groin. And it is the most erotic thing you've ever experienced. He leans down and kisses you again, and just as his tongue is finding its way back into your mouth, his hand is suddenly on your penis.

You cry out, and he swallows all the embarrassing noises you're making. But then he pulls away, his hand still fisting you, and he licks himself off your cheek. His tongue moves to your ear, and then down to your neck, where he stays for a moment, teeth scraping, tongue swiping, lips sucking. And he licks you clean, your whole body. Except your crotch. He's teasing you, and you know it. You look down to where he's now kneeling on the floor, and you come undone. His smirk is wiped clear off his face when your ejaculate covers him. You've never come that hard in your life. You use paper towel to wipe him off, and the two of you clean up in silence. Once you go to put your shirt on, you realize it's still wet.

"Here."

You look up to see Finn holding out a sweatshirt.

"I figured you'd need something to wear, so I brought you this. You can borrow it, I have tons." He grins at you, and you smile tentatively back. Pulling the sweatshirt over your head you notice the smell. It's subtle, and masculine and totally Finn. It's also about two sizes too big. But you're completely okay with that. You know why? Because you're finally coming to terms with what you've been struggling to deny since the seventh grade. Maybe you are gay. Maybe you're bisexual. But now, after all these year in denial, you can say "I like boys". All because of a mind blowing tryst in the bathroom with your only friend at this new school.

And when Finn shows up at your house later that night, you don't ask how he got there, or why he's there. You just lead him up to your room, and blast the music. Because, hey, this can just be your little secret.


End file.
